


So This is the Life?

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Series: Cousland, the younger years [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Before the Blight, F/M, Gen, Growing up in Highever, Swordplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-04-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3675096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My brain needed a reason for Ser Temmerly to join in with the assassination plot in Awakenings; this is what came out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So This is the Life?

"But mother, I don't want to go to Dragon's Peak!" Regan's voice carried through the corridor as she and her mother had another argument over her upcoming trip to the Bannorn. This was just the most recent repeat of the same old disagreement. "I want to stay here and train. There's no good reason why I shouldn't be able to do just that."

"Now dear, you know why you're going. Bann Sighurd has invited you down for the month to get to know his son." Eleanor sighed with exasperation as she pulled out yet another dress for inspection. "Oswyn is a nice young man, after all. And it is a good idea to keep on good terms with those that govern in the Bannorn, even when we don't particularly want to." She showed the selected dress to her daughter, fully expecting another outburst. Regan was, after all, not known for her enthusiasm for the more feminine clothing that her mother preferred. "How about this one, dear; it would set off your eyes so nicely?"

Regan took only a quick glance at the garment before returning to braiding her hair, sighing, "I can't train in that, mother." She knew, of course, that that was her mother's plan. Eleanor was not fond of the fact that her daughter would rather spend her time training with Ser Gilmore and Fergus rather than behaving like a lady. It was almost as if she had two sons rather than the one. Thank the Maker for Fergus' wife, Oriana. At least she gave Eleanor someone to commiserate with. 

"That's the point, darling. I know you're bringing your armor, and most of your wardrobe is not fit for formal gatherings. This will give you an option in the event that the Bann and his wife decide to hold anything resembling a banquet or ball. You are the daughter of the Teyrn of Highever, remember. It is a great honor for them to have you in their home." Eleanor closed the wardrobe and draped the emerald dress on the bed. She knew her daughter would complain, but in the end, she would do as asked. It was almost a game for the girl, all the bickering and challenging. She was so much like her father in her hardheadedness, and her desire to prove herself more than a mere nobleman's daughter made it all the worse.

"Fine mother, I will take the dress with me. Am I to be travelling alone, then?" Regan asked as she finally finished putting her hair up. She knew she shouldn't be picking a fight with her mother again, especially not over something that's been discussed over and over, but she just couldn't help it. She was also fairly sure that Eleanor and Bryce wouldn't send her out without more of an escort than Jasper.

With a knowing smile, Eleanor walked over and put a hand on her daughter's shoulder, "You know your father and I would not send you out alone. Ser Gilmore and a few of his men will accompany you." She gave Regan a quick hug and walked toward the door. "I'll ask one of the servants to wrap your dress. Your father wants you and Ser Gilmore to depart in the morning."

Once her mother left, Regan sighed and pulled open the vanity's drawer. "One of these days," she muttered, "I'll convince her that this goal of hers is ridiculous." She pulled out a leather-bound book and tossed it into the pack she would be carrying with her to Dragon's Peak. "Andraste, save me; that woman is determined to marry me off. Thank the Maker that Father is making it difficult for her."  
She was packed, as ready for this trip as she'd ever be, so Regan left her rooms to join Jasper, wherever he was. Maybe they could torment Fergus a bit before she left. He was always teasing her about something or another, and lately his favorite subject was their mother's never-ending quest to marry her off to some noble or another. You'd think that he'd have grown out of the whole 'tease your sister' phase, but no. But then again, she still hadn't grown out of the 'tease your brother' phase, so it all evened out. 

"Why so glum, little sister?" The familiar voice came from behind her. Fergus laughed as she spun around to stick her tongue out at him.  
"You know good and well why I'm unhappy," she snapped. "Mother is sending me to make nice with Bann Sighurd's son, Oswyn, for the month." She gestured in the direction of the training grounds, "You know he doesn't know his arse from the pointy end of a sword."  
Fergus couldn't help but laugh. It was true; Oswyn was not the kind of man he'd picture managing to win the heart of his sister. The woman she had become could best most of their friends in combat now, and would not settle for any man who could not hold his own on the battleground. Oswyn was far more comfortable commanding armies from the background rather than the front lines. "I know little sister. I know. But just think, maybe you can show him up in front of whatever girl he's got his eye on this month."

"I just hope father can keep mother's intentions in check," Regan grumbled. "She's becoming impossible to deal with." The pair continued walking to the main hall, chatting about what tortures she could inflict upon Oswyn and the rest of the nobility in Dragon's Peak. "At least I'll have Ser Gilmore and Jasper with me," Regan said in a half-whisper. At the guilty look on Fergus' face, she abruptly stopped and demanded, "What? What are you looking so guilty for?"

"Um," Fergus began hesitantly, "about Jasper." He wasn't sure how to tell his unpredictable sister that her beloved mabari would not be allowed to accompany her to Dragon's Peak. One of Bann Sighurd's mabari had just given birth and they didn't want to expose the pups to any strange animals. He checked for an escape route and then told her, "Jasper's not coming with you. Sighurd has asked our parents to keep him here. New mabari pups arrived and he doesn't want to risk them getting sick."

"Because Jasper is just full of germs, right?" Regan's voice was harsh, but Fergus knew it wasn't really directed at him. She and that mabari were already almost inseparable, and he was only a few weeks old. "And I'm sure he's eager to share them with the other mabari pups."

With what he hoped was a comforting hug, Fergus gestured toward the main hall's door. "Come on, sister dear. Let us see what father felt was so important he had to pull you away from packing and me away from my son's constant requests to learn how to use a sword." In truth, Fergus was extremely thankful to escape Oren's request. As much as he'd love his son to be trained as a warrior, he was far too young yet. He was only four, and already eager to join his father and auntie in the training grounds. If Ser Gilmore hadn't already promised that he would start training the boy as soon as he was big enough to hold a sword, he'd be down there every day asking the knights to teach him too. Oriana was already mad at him for promising that one day soon he'd start teaching Oren. He didn't want to do anything to annoy her further. The last thing he needed was two aggravated women running around.

"Ah, pups. There you both are." Bryce greeted his daughter with a hug before clasping his son on the shoulder. "Regan, honey, I know you aren't happy with going to Dragon's Peak, but you will make your mother very happy if you do, and you will make my job a bit easier as well." When both children looked confused, Bryce continued, "Soon, your mother and I will need someone we can trust to handle affairs with the banns and the Teyrn of Gwaren in our stead. We cannot be everywhere at once, and to be able to trust you two to carry out our wishes would be a great help." He looked at his children with pride; both were growing up to be treasured gems in his eyes. And both would make excellent emissaries across Ferelden. 

"So send Fergus to Dragon's Peak to make nice with Oswyn," Regan suggested, smiling sweetly at her brother. "I'm sure the two of them would have a lot more in common than Oswyn and I would."

Before Fergus could think of a snappy retort, Bryce shook his head. "Sorry pup, but this one is more up your alley." He smiled at his children and continued, "Since Fergus is both married and a father, he has less in common with Oswyn than you might think. Besides, he's going to be travelling to White River." At Fergus' surprised expression, Bryce explained, "The bann there has a couple children who are around Oren's age. Your mother and I feel it would make sense for Fergus to take Oriana and Oren to visit."

Dammit. Why did her father have to make an argument that made sense? It was so much more difficult to argue with him when it made sense. "But mother expects me to marry one of these blasted nobles' sons. And not one of them has a bloody thought in their heads!"

Ah, the true source of her discontent. For years now, Regan had resisted any attempt to marry her off to some noble. She had very specific ideas about her future, and they did not include becoming a trophy wife. And to be honest, Bryce was okay with this. He wanted his little girl to be happy, rather than stuck in a marriage she didn't want. However, he also wanted to keep his wife happy, so he didn't interfere too much in her attempts. He did manage to make sure that nothing came of any of the meetings so far. 

"Now pup, your mother doesn't expect you to marry someone specifically from Dragon's Peak. She just wants you to get to know Oswyn, and any other noblemen who might be there to see if one takes your fancy." Bryce had to think carefully as to how he would answer his daughter. She'd almost made a game of trying to out-argue her family. "She and I both know your wishes on the subject, and even when one of these nobles decide they might like to try to win your hand, they have to ask me for my permission first. And rest assured, I will not give anyone permission you do not fancy." Eleanor didn't know that part yet, and he wasn't sure how well she would take to the fact that he was, in essence, working with their daughter to keep her from marrying just any old noble. While both his and Fergus' arranged marriages had gone well, he knew not all would. And he was determined his only daughter would be able to marry someone she cared for, not someone she would need to grow to care for.

"Alright, father," Regan said dejectedly, "I'll go. And I'll even be polite to that twit, Oswyn." Fergus stifled a laugh as she turned to stick her tongue out at him. Returning her gaze to her father, she asked, "Does Ser Gilmore know he is to be accompanying me on this nightmarish visit? Or are you planning on springing it on him at the last minute?"

"I know about the visit, my lady," a familiar and strangely soothing voice came from somewhere behind her. "Her ladyship informed me yesterday that I would be sent along with you to Dragon's Peak." Ser Gilmore stepped up to stand beside Regan and gave her a quick grin. "I do not think my lady would let any journey turn into a nightmare, especially when there is always more training to be done."

Bryce and Fergus rolled their eyes as Regan's face lit up. Ser Gilmore had a point. If everything else on this trip turned out to be nightmarish, she'd at least have him to train with. Maybe she could get in enough practice to be able to best Fergus in their sparring matches! Bryce was just glad Eleanor wasn't present to hear that exchange. She might have a coronary right there in the main hall. As much as she professed otherwise, there was a part of her that always wished their daughter would be more the proper lady and less combat-minded.

Various methods of transport were discussed for both siblings. Oren was still too young to ride alone, or even ride at all for too long a time. This fact and Fergus' reminder that Oriana was less than fond of horses meant that he would get to take the carriage. He would drive it himself and Oriana would bring a few servants to aide them during the trip. This meant that Regan, Ser Gilmore and the few soldiers they would have accompanying them would have to content themselves with riding or walking. Their supplies would be carried in a small wagon pulled by a mule and guided by one of the men. Regan vowed to take several breaks during the trip so as not to overtire those walking. If she had gotten her way, they wouldn't be bringing anyone else, but Eleanor insisted. She made a mental note to try and convince her parents to allow her to only take Ser Gilmore and Jasper on the next trip, assuming there would be another trip.

She spent the rest of the day alternating her time between playing and training Jasper and working in the practice field. Late in the evening, one of the knights-in-training asked to spar with her and she gladly obliged. Clad only in a tunic and leather trousers, Regan held her own against the more armored man. Neither was out for blood, and the sparring session lasted long enough to draw a decent sized crowd. Most of the observers were students in the training classes that she was no longer allowed to attend.  
Bryce had overheard one of the boys making a rather lewd comment about her a year or so ago and had immediately asked Ser Gilmore to conduct private training lessons rather than leave her in the company of less civilized boys. Regan had been quite bothered by this at first, seeing it as being pulled out of classes just because she was a girl. When Fergus and Ser Gilmore explained the reasoning behind it though, she accepted it. She was curious as to which boy it was and what he said, but no one would tell her. She idly wondered if the boy in question was part of the gathered crowd, but most of her attention stayed focused on the knight in front of her. When he made a particularly quick lunge at her midsection, she twisted out of the way and brought the flat of her sword against his back, knocking him off balance enough for his momentum to carry him to the ground.

"Well fought, Ser Andrew," came snide calls from one group of boys as Regan helped her opponent to his feet. "Got beat by a girl!"  
Regan rolled her eyes and sighed. Things would never change. "Don't listen to them, Ser Andrew," she whispered once the boy had regained his balance. "You fought well and were a worthy opponent." Louder, she called, "None of those boys have the nerve to face me, so they must make themselves feel better by mocking you." This statement was accompanied by a quick wink to Ser Andrew, who smiled shyly, as she sheathed her sword and dagger. Her taunting statement had the desired effect. Several of the cat-calling boys voiced outrage, but only one had the nerve to step forward. He was taller than her by at least a head and far more muscled. He wore the same armor as Ser Andrew, but it looked much more menacing on him. 

"There's no way this whelp calling herself a warrior can best me." His voice was as rough as his manners and it sent a disgusted shiver down Regan's spine. Something about this boy made her feel icky. Could this be the one father had overheard? Judging by the way he looked at her, she was almost certain.  
"Well then," she said with far more confidence than she truly felt, "shall we see who bests whom?" She unsheathed her blades and faced her opponent, eyes staying locked on his for the time being. "First blood? Or just until someone gives up?" It was a reasonable question. Her battle with Ser Andrew was not to first blood. It ran until one of them gave up. But strangely, neither of them was bleeding from that match." 

"A true warrior can fight through a bit of blood," the boy across from her growled. She still hadn't remembered his name but decided that finding that out could wait. "I say we fight until someone yields." He looked to the crowd and grinned smugly, "And I am certain it will not be The Ox who yields."

So he called himself The Ox, then. 'As dumb as an ox, maybe' Regan thought to herself. This wouldn't be an easy fight, she was sure. "Alright then, Ser Ox," she said with a calmness she really did not feel, "Until you yield." Perhaps she shouldn't bait him quite so much. But Ser Gilmore did say that while your own anger is a great weakness, your opponent's anger can be a great ally. Maybe she could get this 'Ox' angry enough to screw up. She certainly hoped so. 

And then, he charged. His sword came down fast and hard, and it was only by sheer luck that she was able to bring her blades up to block. The force of the blow knocked her to one knee, but she managed to keep the blade away. Grinning evilly, The Ox put more effort behind the push down, as if trying to drive her through the ground. He was so focused on watching his blade pushing hers down that he didn't see her foot snake out to sweep his legs out from under him. She scrambled back and took a defensive stance as he landed on his rear, his sword falling to the earth beside him. He jumped back to his feet, grabbed his sword and banged it on his shield in anger.

"Why you little bitch," he growled. "You'll pay for that." He didn't rush her again; apparently he could learn. Instead, the pair circled each other, occasionally jabbing or swinging a blade at the other in hopes of a lucky shot. She saw an opening and darted forward. Feigning a direct attack, Regan twisted to the side at the last second and brought her dagger around to nick his arm. A large portion of the crowd cheered. Apparently this Ox wasn't as popular as he'd like to think. In retaliation, or perhaps just as a response to the sensation of skin being cut, he brought his shield around fast. It connected, and knocked her to the ground. The small group of hecklers cheered at that, but the rest of the crowd called out encouragement to her. Before she had a chance to do more than catch her breath Ox bore down on her again. He managed to catch the midsection of her tunic with the tip of his sword before she could effectively block him. It hurt; not only did he slice open her shirt, he caught skin. The cut didn't seem deep, thankfully, but it was long, running from her side to midway across her stomach. He was obviously not concerned with keeping wounds small. Two well-placed feet to the chest backed him off enough for her to return to an upright position and she glared at him. 

The rip in her shirt would surely hamper her if she didn't do something quickly. Thankfully, the boy's ego prompted him to posture and gloat to his friends. While he was distracted, she used her dagger to finish what Ox had started. Her shirt now stopped above her navel and dirt was already getting in the wound, but at least the fabric wouldn't get her tangled. 'Mother is going to be furious' Regan thought with a sigh. 

"Look boys," Ox called to his friends. "She's decided she wants us to see what she looks like under that shirt!" The small group whistled and cat-called and made all sorts of lewd suggestions, but Regan ignored them. 

"Bloody fools," she muttered, watching her opponent. Knowing that he would likely try another trick to tear the rest of her shirt, she decided it would be best to end the fight quickly, but she wasn't about to yield to such a jerk; not if she didn't have to. What would make him so angry he'd lose sight of his goal and allow her to gain the upper hand?

"Sorry boys," she called back, twirling the blades at her sides, "The only people who get to see more are the ones that have more than a twig between their legs! And from what I've been told, that's none of you lot!" Oh, if Fergus or Ser Gilmore had heard that, there would be hell to pay. It's funny what one will pick up listening to the serving girls sometimes. But Fergus and Ser Gilmore weren't there as far as she could tell. The rest of the audience – knights and knights-in-training alike, broke out into loud laughter and cheers. It was nice to see someone standing up to Ox and his gang, even if it was the Teyrn's daughter. In truth, that might have even made it sweeter. Ser Andrew looked especially amused. 

With an angry bellow, Ox turned and charged, sword cocked back for a violent swing. He threw his shield to the ground and brought his now free hand to add extra force to the swing. But suddenly, she wasn't there. And suddenly, he was face-down on the ground and his sword was several feet away. The majority of the crowd was cheering as a hand grabbed his hair, pulling his head back, and a blade touched his throat.

"Do you yield?" Regan breathed. She had a foot tucked around each of his arms, pulling them back so he couldn't use them for leverage to knock her off. When he didn't reply, she added a little more pressure with the edge of her dagger and asked again, "Do you yield?"  
Unwilling to risk actual damage to his throat, Ox grumbled, "I yield." When Regan prompted him for a louder response, he bellowed angrily, "I yield!" before adding "You bitch," under his breath. 

Wincing as she rose, Regan sheathed her blades and started over toward the railing. She intended on chatting with a couple of the knights who had stopped by to watch. She also hoped one of them had some bandages handy so she could take care of that gash along her side. It was dripping a bit, and the dirt caked on her skin was surely inside the cut as well. She was almost there when a collective gasp and some wide-eyed stares and pointing caused her to turn just in time to see The Ox barrel into her! The force knocked both of them to the ground, but he was prepared while she wasn't. Her breath flew out of her lungs as she impacted the ground, and Ox landed atop her, straddling her waist. He didn't have a blade with him, thank the Maker, but that didn't mean he couldn't hurt her. While she struggled to breathe, she saw his fist swinging down at her. She had just enough time to turn her head a little to lessen the blow when it connected. Seeing stars, she felt his hands grab what was left of her tunic and start to pull. He was planning on ripping her shirt off! He was too heavy for her to buck off in this position, and she was, in all honesty, too worn out to fight much. Just when she started to hear the fabric tear, a familiar voice echoed throughout the field.

"Ser Temmerly!" Ser Gilmore pushed his way through the crowd and hopped the railing, looking furious. "What do you think you're doing?! Get up and move away from Lady Cousland immediately!"

"We're sparring," Temmerly, the Ox replied casually, not letting go just yet. Surely he didn't think he was going to be able to argue with Ser Gilmore? 

"I will repeat myself, just once," Ser Gilmore growled as he reached the pair. Regan could finally breathe, but still didn't have the strength to move her assailant. "Remove yourself from the Lady Cousland's person this instant. The match is over; you have already yielded." When Ser Temmerly still didn't move, Ser Gilmore man-handled him to a standing position and tossed him to two other knights who had come out to assist. "You will answer to the Teyrn for this, you understand, boy." Never before had Regan heard him use this tone; it scared her a bit. "I have little doubt that his Lordship will send you away. He does not take kindly to people who try and abuse his daughter." He looked at the other knights and nodded, "Take him to the holding room. I will be along presently, and we shall have a word with Teyrn Cousland."

The knights nodded and roughly escorted Ser Temmerly, The Ox away. His band of friends slunk away mistakenly hopeful that Ser Gilmore hadn't seen them. He had already made a mental note of which members of the crowd had supported the bully. The rest of the onlookers wandered away after a few pointed glares from the knight. Once the crowd started to disperse, he dropped to his knees next to Regan and sighed, "Your mother will have a fit if she sees what you've done to your tunic, my lady." 

"I know, I know. But it wasn't entirely my fault, Rory. And remember, you're allowed to call me Regan." Now alone, Regan called him by his nickname. She was the only one he allowed to do so, and she had always felt honored. "That rat was out to actually hurt me." Sitting up, she winced and her hand flew to her side. "Maker, that hurts." 

"Stay still a moment. I'll get something to clean that up." He pulled a cloth from his pack and jogged to a nearby bucket of water. Regan always kept a full bucket on hand when she was training in case she got thirsty. After soaking the cloth, he returned and started to dab at her side. "You fought well my la – er, Regan," he whispered as he carefully cleaned the wound. "You remembered that one of the best ways to defeat someone is to make them too angry to think." He smiled at her briefly before returning his gaze to the gash. "I have some salve that should help this, but we'll have to sneak you back to your rooms to keep your mother from seeing the bandage." He slathered the cool goop along her side, and then wrapped her torso with a long bandage. 

"Thank you for stopping him, Rory," she said quietly, looking at the ground as the knight helped her to her feet. "I shudder to think what he would have done once the shirt was ripped completely." Her imagination could certainly figure out some things he might have tried, and with an audience it would have been so much more mortifying.

Shaking his head, Ser Gilmore said nothing for a moment, contenting himself with helping her off the field and to her rooms. They'd played this game often enough, usually when he'd caught her sneaking back into the castle after a night in town or out training. Eleanor Cousland permitted a lot, but she would not be so calm about her only daughter sneaking off to hang around with the villagers with no chaperone. Not that Regan actually did anything wrong when out. She just liked listening to the bards' tales in taverns and trying to learn some tricks from some of the rogues that passed through. But this time, he had to leave her leaning against walls so he could make sure each hallway was clear before they would dart along to the next. Upon reaching the door to her rooms, she motioned for him to have a seat in one of the chairs while she flopped down on her bed. She'd long ago stopped worrying about propriety when it game to Roland. He was as good as family to her, and she trusted him. But she had asked him to remain outside as she changed shirts, and they left the door open, just in case. 

"Oh, I suppose this means I have nothing more than a twig, then?" he teased, fully expecting the bright red blush that crossed her cheeks. He couldn't help but think how cute she was when she blushed like that. But he'd never tell a soul. She was the reason he didn't mind being set as what she referred to as a 'glorified babysitter'. 

"You heard that?" Regan blushed furiously, "I was hoping that you weren't there for that. I'd heard some of the girls in the castle talk and it just seemed to be the best insult I could think of."

"You know, your mother would wash your mouth out with soap for a month if she'd heard you out there today," Ser Gilmore laughed. "It was a very clever jibe, and effective, too." He grinned at his charge. "We do need to work on your defense against a stronger opponent, it seems. And you seem to enjoy using two blades more than a sword and shield, so we shall work on that more as well." 

Leave it to him to turn even an impromptu fight into a training exercise. But that was one of the reasons she liked him. She could still remember the butterflies that plagued her for the longest time after meeting him so many years ago. He was her brother's age, and that made him intriguing. Somewhere along the way, that infatuation had turned to more of a sisterly affection, but there were times where she wondered and her mind still wandered. 

"Thank you, again, for stopping him, Rory." The blush had finally started to fade, and she looked up at him with sparkling eyes. "Tell me, is he the reason father pulled me from group training?" She was fairly certain he was, especially after today's fight, but she wanted confirmation. She needed confirmation.

He stayed silent for a moment, a promise to her father warring with a long ago promise to never lie to her. The older promise won out. "Yes, he was the boy your father overheard. The things he said I will not repeat. But they were far worse than what he did on the field today." As much as he might like to, Ser Gilmore could never forget what he was told the boy had said. If he'd been there to hear it, perhaps Temmerly would never have gotten the chance to fight Regan today. It was quite possible that the boy would already be dead. Speaking of which, he recalled that the boy was still being held, awaiting Ser Gilmore's arrival to go speak to Bryce. 

"Forgive me, my dear Regan," he said lightly, bowing exaggeratedly. "I must speak with your father before he turns in for the night. We need to decide what to do about our dear friend Ser Temmerly. I do not think it is safe for you if he remains here. After all, I won't always be in the crowd, ready to leap to your aide."

Laughing, Regan nodded, "I suppose you're right, Rory. I certainly don't want him jumping out of shadows at me. Father will be less than pleased, I'm sure." She sighed and ran her hand along the bandage, "Do let me know if father needs anything from me, regarding the incident?"

Ser Gilmore nodded, and brought her hand to his lips briefly, brushing the gentlest of kisses across the back of her hand. It was a gesture she was quite familiar with, as they often used it when parting company, if they were alone. Sometimes she wondered if the knight thought of her as something more than just a friend, but she was too afraid of the answer to ask. After all, he was like a brother to her; well mostly. "I will, my lady," he said as he walked out the door. "Good evening to you, my lady. And sweet dreams; tomorrow, we shall be off for Dragon's Peak." And he closed the door behind him.

Ugh. Dragon's Peak. That's right. Tomorrow they would journey to the Bannorn for the month. She might as well get some sleep before the trip. Maker knew that it was near impossible to sleep while riding her horse, and this blasted injury would make the trip even more uncomfortable. Wincing whenever she moved just wrong, Regan brushed out her hair, changed into her sleeping gown, and crawled into bed. As much as she didn't want to admit it, she was worn out from the fight. She wondered what her father would decide to do about The Ox, and made a mental note to ask Ser Gilmore in the morning. And as the candle next to her bed burned out, she faded off to sleep.

As Regan was getting ready for bed, and falling asleep, Ser Gilmore was carrying out a duty he was far happier to do than he should be. Since finding out that Temmerly the Ox wanted to take advantage of Regan, he'd been trying to think of a way to get rid of the boy. And finally, the fool had done it himself. He'd actually tried not only to hurt the girl, but to molest her in front of a crowd. Meeting up with the knights guarding Temmerly, he motioned for them to bring the boy. 

"Alright, Teyrn Cousland has said he will give us a few moments of his time before he retires for the night." Roland Gilmore looked at his men, then at the prisoner, for lack of a better word. "You would be wise to pray for leniency, boy. It's quite possible he'll call for your head." Turning his back to The Ox, he muttered, "Maker knows I would in a heartbeat, you bloody coward."

They arrived at the main hall and marched inside. Roland was taken by surprise to see not only Bryce, but Eleanor and Fergus Cousland as well. They hadn't sent for Regan, it seemed, but none of them looked pleased. 

"I am sorry to keep you from your sleep, my lords and ladyship, but I felt this matter would be best dealt with immediately." Ser Gilmore glanced behind him to make sure his men had a good hold on Ser Temmerly, and then returned his gaze to the Couslands gathered. "It is my opinion that it is no longer safe for Ser Temmerly to remain in Highever."

Bryce and Fergus both looked unsurprised, as they both remembered the name. Eleanor, however, looked confused. "And what is your reasoning behind this, Ser Gilmore?" she asked gently. Bryce had never told her his reasons for pulling their daughter from the training classes. She was under the impression that he just felt she would be better trained in private lessons. It seemed the truth might have to come out.

Ser Gilmore looked to the male Couslands for permission to explain and received it. He sighed, hating the idea of remembering the conversation, again. "Your ladyship, have you ever wondered why your husband asked me to train Lady Regan alone, rather than in the typical training classes?" When she nodded, he continued, "His Lordship overheard one of the boys in the group talking about what, exactly, he wanted to do to your daughter. This was a year or so ago, mind you. So he did what he felt best. He pulled her from the classes with that boy, and had me train her alone."

"Bryce, is this true?" Eleanor asked her husband, sounding concerned. When he nodded, she demanded, "And why was I not informed of this at that time?"

"Because, my lady," Ser Gilmore answered, hoping to draw the attention back to the matter at hand, "your husband did not want to worry you unnecessarily. After all, it could have just been idle talk from a boy looking to make himself sound tough." That answer seemed to placate her for the time being, so he continued the story. "Today, Lady Regan was in one of the smaller practice fields, working on her dual weapon techniques when one of the boys from the training classes asked to spar with her. Ser Andrew had heard she was very good and wanted to test his skill against someone other than those he trained with on a regular basis. They had a good match, and your daughter beat him without either person bleeding. When that match was completed, Ser Temmerly and some of his friends taunted the poor boy. Your daughter stood up for him, and Temmerly here challenged her to a match. It was to be a match that lasted until someone yielded."

He took a breath and hoped he wasn't getting Regan in trouble with this tale. But if he did, he was sure she could talk her way out of it. She was a persuasive one. "She fought well, considering he out massed her by quite a bit. She scored first blood with a small nick in the arm." He moved aside to show the Couslands the size of the wound Regan had made. It wasn't very big at all. "In retaliation, Temmerly managed to cut your daughter rather deeply, and the wound is rather long."

Upon hearing that his sister had been wounded, Fergus jumped up and ran from the room. No one could tell for sure, but his parents figured he'd be running to check on his little sister. The two were quite close after all, and if she was hurt, he wanted to know how badly. 

"She fought through the pain, though," Ser Gilmore continued, sounding proud and wishing Fergus had stayed around for the rest of the story. He would have been proud of her, "and even managed to get him to yield without any further blood being drawn. You would have been proud of her, your lordship. After he yielded and she moved away, he charged her and knocked her to the ground. He struck her and then started to try and tear what was left of her tunic off her before I managed to reach him."

Everyone was looking at Ser Temmerly now, and every one of them had hatred in their eyes. "I had to physically remove him from her so she could get up. He wouldn't move when ordered. And he seems to suffer no remorse for what he tried to do." Ser Gilmore knew that Bryce would remember the statements made a year ago. He also knew that the Teyrn would want to know that there were other boys who had cheered for the bastard. But that would wait until later. 

"I had my men take Temmerly to the holding cells until I could join them, and then cleaned her wounds as best I could on the training grounds." Ser Gilmore was careful how he explained the next bit because it could be taken very wrongly, "I escorted Lady Regan back to her room where she cleaned them again and had me bandage the worst ones. She then went to bed, and my men and I came straight here to see you."

As Roland finished his explanation, Fergus burst back through the door with his sister in tow, protesting tiredly. She had changed back into the trousers and tunic she had been wearing previously, and the bandage stood out against the darker fabrics like a beacon, as did the bruise on her cheek. The wound was still bleeding, and the blood had already started to show through the bandage. Eleanor gasped when she saw her daughter in such a condition, and Bryce could have easily throttled the boy accused of the act had his daughter not been standing there.

Ser Gilmore was the first to speak, gesturing toward the accused. "Your Lordship, Ser Temmerly has not denied that he has done these things. The blade wound could, I suppose, be disregarded as an accident in a match. But his actions after the match are unworthy of a knight of Highever." He risked a quick glance over at Regan and couldn't help but smile. She was doing her best to stay upright and not yawn in her tired state, and in doing so was making odd faces. He quickly hid that amusement, though, when he turned to face the Teyrn again. "I am formally suggesting that he no longer be considered as such, and in order to protect the Lady Regan, he be removed from this castle and Teyrnir." 

It was a reasonable suggestion, and one the Couslands would likely take in order to protect their daughter. Bryce glared at the boy, still standing defiant between the guards. "Very well, Ser Gilmore, put him in a cell. I will speak with Arl Howe about the possibility of sending him there. There is less chance of Rendon's daughter being anyplace that would put her in his path." He glanced at his daughter, who was now leaning on Fergus to stay upright. "Temmerly, you are hereby stripped of your knighthood in Highever, and will be confined to a cell until such a time that we can find somewhere new to send you. Pray the Arl is willing to take you. Otherwise, you may end up in Antiva, or Orlais." The guards took the now struggling Ox away as Ser Gilmore bowed his to the Teyrn and Teyrna.

"I want to thank you, Ser Gilmore, for protecting our daughter," Eleanor commended. "I am glad that you will be travelling with her tomorrow. Please keep her safe." When he voiced his certainty that he would do just that, she added, "Very well. Now off to bed, all of you. You've all got big days ahead."

Dismissed, Fergus looked first at his sister and then to Roland. "Ser Gilmore, could you give me a hand with this dead weight here? I don't think she's awake enough to make it to her rooms." Laughing, he maneuvered one of her arms around his shoulder, but couldn't find a place to rest his hand that wouldn't put pressure on that blasted wound.

Moving behind Regan, Ser Gilmore smiled gently. "I'll take her, my lord," he offered, sweeping Regan up to cradle her against his chest. The coolness of his armor against the bandage and her cheek was actually soothing, and she snuggled against him. "I think we'll need to change that dressing once we get her back to her room, though." He wasn't sure if she was at all awake at this point, so he was careful not to suggest that he be the only one to take her back to her bed. 

Fergus nodded and opened one of the doors out of the main hall. "Good plan. Nan and the rest of the servants would have kittens if she got blood all over her gown and sheets, again." That made both men laugh; it was true that more often than not, Regan went to bed bleeding somewhere or another, and every time Nan would have a hissy. "You sure she doesn't need a healer?"

"We plan to stop at the Circle of Magi on the way to Dragon's Peak," Ser Gilmore mentioned. "I was planning on asking one of the mages there to take a look at her. The First Enchanter will, I hope, be willing to help." He glanced down at the girl in his arms and couldn't stop the smile. She was so beautiful when asleep, or pretending to be asleep, as the case may be. And it didn't help that she kept shifting to cuddle further against him. He passed it off as her just enjoying the coolness of his armor, especially against her bruised cheek, and hoped Fergus would too. He and Fergus were close though, practically best friends, as they'd grown up training together along with Regan. Fergus still teased him about finding a wife and settling down, but no woman had ever caught his eye, except the girl in his arms. But he knew that nothing would ever come from that. There was too much of a gap in their stations. And so he contented himself with whatever time he could spend with her, knowing that he was willingly torturing himself for nothing.

Fergus did notice, but didn't say a word. He felt for the knight, understanding that as Regan's near constant companion, it was likely that there would be some sort of attraction there. He hoped that, eventually, Ser Gilmore would be able to move beyond that infatuation, but he wasn't going to rat out his friend for it. And his sister didn't seem to mind the attention in the slightest. Plus it gave her someone who would do almost anything to protect her, at least. And judging by the events of the day, she needed that at times. 

When they reached her bedroom, the pair had to figure out how to change the wound's dressing without laying her down. In the end, Fergus stood behind her and held her up, his hands under her arms supporting her weight. Ser Gilmore busied himself with removing the now bloody bandage, carefully pulling it away from the skin. Fergus was fairly certain his sister wasn't really asleep, but he couldn't think of a way to check without actually hurting her. If she was feigning sleep, she'd keep up the charade through whatever normal attempts he'd make. As it turned out, he didn't need to try and wake her up. As soon as the salve Ser Gilmore was using touched her skin, she jumped with surprise; apparently the goop was cold. Now able to let her stand on her own, Fergus stepped back and grinned. 

"You know, little sister," he teased, "if you're going to insist on fighting in a tunic rather than your armor, I'll just take it to market with me next time and sell it off." He wouldn't really do so, but it was entertaining to see her reaction.

"You try it and I'll gut you," Regan threatened, looking around for any sort of blade to punctuate the idea. "I hadn't intended on getting into a real fight. Ser Andrew just wanted to train a bit, and things went downhill from there." She shrugged, wincing as Ser Gilmore started wrapping a new bandage around her torso. "Blasted fool. You don't really think he was trying to kill me, was he?"

The two men looked at each other in silence. In truth, they weren't sure. Temmerly had boasted that he was going to make a name for himself by bedding the Teyrn's daughter, whether she was willing or not. If he was determined to do that, who could say what else he was willing to do, especially when she rebuffed every attempt he made. "I don't know, my lady," Ser Gilmore replied, pulling the bandage taught and tying it off. "He's been quite upset with you for some time now, and your performance on the practice field today didn't make him like you any better."

She nodded and sighed, "True enough. So what is going to happen to him?"

Fergus answered this time, moving closer to the door. Oriana would be wondering where he was soon, and he really didn't want an earful tonight. "Father is going to be contacting Arl Howe in the morning about possibly sending him to Amaranthine. Delilah wouldn't be caught dead anywhere near the knights-in-training, so she'd be safe." He grinned at his sister, knowing how little she respected Howe's only daughter. "And I'm sure if we tell Thomas and Nathaniel what happened, they'll keep an eye on him." That was true enough. As the eldest brother, Nathaniel did his best to protect his siblings, never mind the fact that Delilah was older than he. In a lot of ways, he was just like Regan. Perhaps that is why they always got on so well. Thomas wanted so badly to be thought of as a hero, somehow, that he'd be the first to jump into a fight, just to prove himself. 

"I hope he's willing to take the idiot," Regan grumbled, moving over to sit on her bed. "I can't stand the idea of always having to watch my back for fear he's sneaking around somewhere." As much as she wanted to stay awake and gripe to Fergus and Roland, the events of the day were taking their toll. She yawned and whimpered a bit as the action strained the fabric around her. "Oh, Maker, this is going to take a while to heal, isn't it?"

Fergus shook his head and laughed, "I'll let you and Roland discuss that, sister dear." He dropped the 'Ser Gilmore when they were alone as well, but he merely used the man's first name. No nicknames here. "I need to return to Oriana before she sends Oren out to find me." He slipped out the door, closing it gently. He didn't think anyone would notice if Ser Gilmore didn't come out tonight, but he was sure nothing improper would happen. Regan was too injured and Ser Gilmore too aware of his status in things to push the issue.

Once it was just the two of them, Ser Gilmore visibly relaxed and responded, "I plan on stopping at the Circle of Magi when we leave, Regan." When she patted the space on the bed next to her, he obeyed, though he sat a little further away than she'd probably expected. "I want to ask The First Enchanter if one of his mages can help speed the healing. Your brother thought that was a good idea." He felt slightly awkward, really, sitting on her bed with her this close. But he was also quite happy she trusted him to be this near when she was at such a disadvantage. 

"I want to thank you again for stopping him, Rory," she said quietly, looking down at her hands. "Am I saying that too much? I wonder why none of the other knights did anything to try and stop him?" In truth, she worried that there were others who thought as Temmerly did and were just better at hiding it. If no other knight in her father's army was willing to intercede when someone was getting out of hand, how safe was she?

"I think they were all too stunned," he replied, taking a chance and resting his arm over her shoulders, trying to comfort her. "Maker knows I was nearly too surprised to move. I couldn't believe he would be stupid enough to attack you from behind after you'd already beaten him." Startled as she was at the contact, Regan couldn't help but smile. She closed her already heavy eyes and leaned against her companion's shoulder. This, of course, meant she had to scoot closer, but neither seemed to care. "But I wasn't about to let him hurt you any more than he could in the time it took me to reach you. No one's going to hurt you if I – er, if your brother or I can help it." As much as he wanted to just tell her no one would hurt her as long as he could help it, he just couldn't bring himself to do so. Adding her brother into the statement helped hide his affection for her, or so he hoped. 

"My knight in shining armor," she laughed suddenly, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "Or more appropriately at the moment, my knight in slightly bloody armor." He couldn't help it; the sound of her laughter made him laugh too. She wrapped her arms around him in a warm hug, though she was still very careful of her side. "And now, good ser knight," she teased, "you should probably get to bed. I'm sure there are servants about who would love to start spreading tales of the secretly lecherous Ser Gilmore, trying to take advantage of the dear, sweet, innocent daughter of the Teyrn." She winked and leapt to her feet to help pull him up. "I will see you bright and early in the morning, Rory. And then we will be off to the nightmarish Dragon's Peak. I trust you to keep me entertained." 

Surely she noticed that he was turning pink, but if she did, she had the decency not to mention it. This trip would be interesting, to say the least. The men he had chosen were his most trusted friends among the knights, and one knight-in-training. This young man specifically requested to come along and even went so far as to clear it with the Teyrn. Ser Andrew had developed a great deal of respect for the girl after facing her in battle and watching her against Ser Temmerly. "I will do my best, my lady Regan." He kissed her hand quickly and slipped out the door. No servants were about as he nearly ran to his quarters, collapsing on the bed.  
Tomorrow, they would be off to Dragon's Peak. And he was worried. He knew that the Teyrna wanted to marry her daughter off to some noble family. The only question was which one? From the things he'd heard about Oswyn and the Dragon's Peak men, he sincerely hoped that none of them would end up being chosen. He didn't think any of them had a chance of winning the girl's affection. In truth, he had a far greater chance of gaining that than any of them. Sometimes, he even wondered if he already had it. As time slipped on, he eventually passed out, still thinking.

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually written 6/11/10 and posted on DeviantArt. Just getting around to posting it elsewhere.


End file.
